You'll Be in My Heart
by hoshiko2kokoro
Summary: The colonies aren't doing as well as England had hoped. Some troubling news sends the empire to see the state of America, only to come to a decision about him.


A chime from Big Ben outside caused England to lift his head, snapping him out of his studious review of finances from the country. He sighed, rubbing his stiff neck and shoulders, and leaned back in his plush chair. His new colony across the ocean wasn't faring as well as he had hoped, but he was far too busy with other matters to find time to sit down and really look at the situation. Thankfully, he had managed to squeeze in some time instead of resting to check up on his newest addition.

That little colony with the bright blue eyes and cheerful smile had left quite an impression on the British Empire. He couldn't help but smile secretively at the memory from when they last saw one another. It was an odd switch for him, the one caring for a being rather than running from it or controlling it. True, America was now a colony he controlled, but seeing as he rarely paid attention to him since acquiring him, he just saw the boy as a child he threw money at sometimes.

Only now, after looking over the slow progress, England grew troubled. The reports stated that America's Virginian regions experienced harsh winters and the land was hard to tame, not to mention lack of gold and Native American attacks. America was still only that of a child and didn't know his lands as well as he should, making it all the more difficult for him to help what few pilgrims lived there. It was even worse as many of England's politicians felt that America was wasting the country's money, the finance report backing up the claims. England soon had to come to a decision about the little colony.

Part of England was keeping the child around only to show France up. Oh how he desperately wanted to point at the bearded frog and laugh, proving him wrong. He was very capable of taking care of a child. The other colonies he was overseeing weren't children, though. It made it very difficult to prove to anyone that England could handle a young country if they were already working as a country before England had arrived.

Well, a non-_civilized_ country, England thought. He stood up, walking to his window. Looking out over Thames, he thought of the boy across the sea. That boy was truly uncivilized. He had no history to call upon that made him even the slightest bit capable to be on his own like the others. Canada might have been the same, but France has snagged the child greedily and England was one colony less. No matter, he still had America.

"But for how much longer?" England thought aloud. Running a hand through his blonde hair, he turned and called for a messenger. When the man arrived, England sat on his chair regally. While he wasn't the King, he still had quite the airs even around his own citizens. "I have a message to send to the New World."

"If I may, my Lord," the messenger said suddenly. England raised an eyebrow, but let the man continue. "I have a letter from the New World to you. It just arrived shortly before you called for me."

England held out his hand in a silent request of which the messenger delivered. He opened his parcel and pulled out the little roll. It was rather worn and England's human name had been written elegantly on the outside. England furrowed his brow at the display not recognizing the handwriting. He looked to the messenger. "Who is this from?"

"I do not know, my Lord. He called himself Matthew, but I can't remember what he looked like," the man replied.

England gasped, quickly snatching the roll. He hurriedly unfurled it. He was shocked at how elegant Canada's handwriting was compared to that of America's. France, he grumbled. He began to read the letter, but stopped halfway to jump up from his seat.

"I have a new message to call for," England started. He rushed for his jacket. His eyes caught the blue from outside, a slight patch of sun filtering through. His heart skipped, knowing that the same sunlight was not blessing America across the ocean. "Ready my ship. I'm departing for the New World in the morn."

"My Lord?" the messenger asked, nervous. "The New World?"

England spared the man a glance before holding out the letter. "Yes. It's urgent. Make haste!"

* * *

><p>The ships were close to America, England could feel it. Being on the sea for as long as he had been, he knew when land was close at hand. His mind was lost in thought, constantly referring back to the letter Canada had written weeks prior to his journey. How long had it taken the letter to get to him? His heart thrummed in anticipation, waiting for his ships to land.<p>

Canada's letter explained of a terrible winter that blew away most, if not all, of England's settlements. There had been no contact with any remaining pilgrims and America, himself, had vanished. A colony that young, that fresh, that helpless was under a constant watch in case such an incident happened. The little boy could very well have literally vanished if the ideas of the colony had died out with the humans. England had seen how the settlements had not fared well recently and should have picked up on the signs sooner.

No, he thought. He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. America has not died. I am not a bad big brother!

His eyes were so focused on the sea that he was first to see the sight of land. It was bright and white from snow, a wonderful sight to behold if the men weren't tired from the voyage or on edge from England's despair. After the ship had dropped anchor, England was first to get on the jolly boat and go with the first company ashore. Normally he was with the second as the first was to secure the area, but he pushed aside rules for urgency.

The nearest settlement was a good hour's ride inland. England waited for his horse to be readied, enveloping his impatience with a glazed indifference. He always kept that mask handy for his enemies and in formal situations. His citizens, however, were not fooled. They knew their country was worried and so they hurried for his sake.

Once everyone was ready, the company departed. Brilliant white snow had been untouched by animal and man, the trees still holding all of the snow on their bare branches. All of the men had seen snow, but not as pure as this before. England cared not for the perfection knowing that it was false. There was death not far from here. Death was all around them.

England's eyes were out of focus, his legs knowing how to keep hold of the horse and his back keeping in perfect posture from years of rigorous training and repetitive riding. He didn't take notice of anyone talking around him until they announced they had reached the settlement. England's mouth fell open in surprise, stopping the horse instantly.

The small log cabins were scattered with a few pathways as makeshift roads spread between. Small patches of land had been a desperate attempt at gardens and farms, but the snow had covered them entirely. All thought of growing any food had been erased. Even cows and chickens and the dogs had died out. The smell of death surrounded everyone. No one cared about the snow anymore.

"Search for survivors," England ordered. He dismounted and surged towards a cabin closest to him. Clutching his fur jacket, he ducked inside.

The front room was cold and empty. A small room was off to the side where a few straw beds were made. England could see a few unmoving bodies covered in darkness. He shuddered, looking away. He held his handkerchief to his nose to protect himself from the overwhelming stench of death. A young woman had collapsed on the ground, her body looking far too skinny. She was clutching a child to her breast as she lay on top of his body.

England sighed. "Such a young thing…" He moved to grab the woman when the child stirred. England retracted his hand sharply in surprise. Then he saw it; that little cowlick. "A-America?"

The head turned and a small blue eye looked at England. His tiny voice would not have been heard if it were not for the ghostly silence around them. "En…Engwand…"

Acting quickly, England threw the woman off of the young boy's body. He pulled off his fur coat, wrapping it around the child. "Masterson!" When said man appeared, England turned to him. "Make a fire and hurry!"

"Yes my Lord!" The man rushed outside. The other men were alerted. A steady hum of shock that a _child_ had survived raced through the group. England held the boy close to his chest. America's body was chillingly cold. If he were not a colony, he might have died by now.

"It'll be ok." England whispered. He rubbed America's back, looking around for more warmth for the boy. America was shivering so hard, England could hear his teeth clattering. "Don't worry. I'm here now."

A small hand clamped on to England's shirt. "En…gwand…"

England looked down, stopping his motions. Those tiny blue eyes looked at him in desperation. He pleaded for the man to save him. Slowly, his eyes began to droop.

"No, no," England stared. He shook America lightly in his arms, keeping him awake. "Don't fall asleep, America. Stay awake, boy."

Masterson returned, quickly explaining that the fire had been made and food was being prepared. England moved outside. Keeping America close, he sat before the fire. He continued to murmur to the young colony to keep him awake.

"How…did you…find me…?" America asked at length.

"Your brother," England replied. He smiled down at America, petting his soft hair. "He wrote to me. Seems he was worried for you."

"You…you came…?" Those same pathetic blue eyes stared up at England.

England's heart clenched; a first for him. He was the great British Empire. His heart never clenched. It never did when men begged for their life to be spared or women cried to not have their possessions stolen. He ignored them all, pushing forward for his cause and his want. And yet, this little colony had created so many firsts for him. Sure, he was just a prize to be won over France's head, but in the end he proved to be so much more. America was all kinds of special to England.

"Of course I came…" England cuddled the boy to his face. It was slowly warming up. "How could I leave you?"

America's cold little hands touched England's cheeks. "I had hoped…you would return some day… I missed you."

England couldn't help but chuckle. "No one misses me, America."

"No one's me."

England pulled away. He looked down at the boy, unable to read his expression. How is it this colony, this child, adored him so much? England hadn't done much for him; it was partially his fault America had been reduced to a shivering mess on the verge of death. His cooking was atrocious, as he had been told, and he wasn't the nicest country of the lot. But America had loved him unconditionally. Sure there was the paperwork behind their bond, but there was a bond deeper than that. One England had a hard time reading whereas America knew all the rules.

"Engwand…?" America's blue eyes looked away. Tears began to slip down his chubby cheeks. "What's going to…happen to me…? Everyone's… gone…" The boy began to wail in England's arms.

The nation looked around nervously, unsure of how to comfort the boy. His men proved to be just as useless, attempting (but failing) to sneak away. America clung to England, sobbing into his clothes. Biting his lip, England hugged America tighter to his chest, shifting the boy's weight.

"Come, stop your crying, It'll be all right." America looked at England, his eyes wide at England's abrupt sounding tone. England cleared his throat, figuring it was best he softened his voice. Taking all of America's tiny hand with just one of England's fingers, the older nation smiled sweetly. "Just take my hand, hold it tight."

America sniffled. His tiny fingers curled around England's finger. The corners of his mouth twitched as he turned his eyes back up to England. "I will protect you from all around you. I will be here, don't you cry."

It was as if the two were the only ones in the world. The rest of the company had escaped; slightly worried their country was suddenly so soft and kind to someone that wasn't a citizen. A child, no less. England visibly relaxed, his eyes focused only on the blue ones gazing up at him in admiration. He nuzzled his cheek to America's baby soft forehead, smiling to himself. His voice was more musical now.

"For one so small…you seem so strong. My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm." He rubbed America's back, instantly feeling the boy relax as well. He nuzzled into England's arms, his eyes starting to droop. "This bond between us can't be broken. I will be here, don't you cry. Because you'll be in my heart."

America eyes lit up, hopeful. A smile was still on England's face despite the blush across his cheeks. He had never said such an emotional thing to another person before, let alone a country. And yet, he pressed on, snuggling America to his face again. "Yes, you'll be in my heart. From this day on, now and forever more. You'll be in my heart. No matter what they say. You'll be here in my heart, always."

By this time, America had fallen asleep. His heavy breathing came out of his barely open mouth. There was a look of serene bliss only a baby could have on America's face, melting England's heart. He leaned down, brushing back America's bangs and kissing his forehead. Then, he whispered, "Always…"

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: Please note: this was my first USUK fanfiction I ever wrote, but it somehow was deleted from my livejournal account, and I never uploaded it to my fanfiction account. I have decided to upload it, as well as I put up the sequel.

That aside, the historical aspect of this story takes place when the first settlements of England did NOT fare well. To be fair, France's first settlements, up in Maine, also didn't do well from disease, so don't feel too bad England! It was only after the colonies turned to tobacco that things really looked up for the colonists. I picked Virginia just because that was the first one I remembered that didn't do well, but all of them kind of died from disease and just flat out failure. I have no idea why any of the European powers kept the American and Canadian colonies. Crazy Europeans…

Song is not mine. Credit goes to Phil Collins.


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